Sound of Rum - Ed Would Be lyrics

[Verse 1] He was distant, most distant from himself Insistent, wanted more from life for himself His restrictions were vast, liked to hide from himself And yes, he made a lot of hype for himself But it went to his head, like a young child sent to his bed Didn't spend his pride so his pride spent him instead Believed them loose lips, yappin' all that loose sh** Wrappin' up a loose spliff, his heart said yes to their compliments He loved it when they flocked around him Loved it when they stopped and found him Jammin' at the bar post-show and playin' it humble like "Yeah, safe, yeah, I really appreciate" But all the while his arrogance got more and more bloated Images inside his mind floated Of how big he would become when he got properly promoted Precocious to the point of being hopeless He hoped that nobody would notice but me, I noticed [Hook] He wants a piece of something that doesn't exist He wants fame, wants a little weight behind his name Chasing an elusive, turns the lucid to lunacy Everyone around here soon to be something Would-be-has-been's smiles full of bad dreams If it ain't real from the edge to the core Don't pretend anymore, stop the gimmicks All about the substance, it's not about the image All about the substance, it's not about the image [Verse 2] You might be saying words, but you ain't spitting lyrics Entertaining illusions of gradeur When his style was, were the truth be told: meager at best So eager to impress, he makes you feel quite distressed Kind of guy that speaks before he thinks and deeply regrets The things he says, acts his confidence up He brags and he boasts, but the one things that matters the most That being content: lacking severely So all he sees in front of him are sorry mate's, not quite's and nearly's He doesn't understand he's like - yo, I got it all The whole package, I got the looks, I got the attitude He don't see to be real you gotta be yourself Not a poorly constructed version of someone else He's got colored business cards that picture his face He could swear it was close enough to taste It's a shame he doesn't know that slow and steady wins the race It's a shame he doesn't know, oh [Hook] He wants a piece of something that doesn't exist He wants fame, wants a little weight behind his name Chasing an elusive, turns the lucid to lunacy Everyone around here soon to be something Would-be-has-been's smiles full of bad dreams If it ain't real from the edge to the core Don't pretend anymore, stop the gimmicks All about the substance, it's not about the image [Verse 3] I've seen this man fall down He can't do what he wants to do He walks 'round getting drunk Jamming at the bar, fast approaching 25 years Weak heart, eyes bleared Jamming in the same ends He's chilling with the same friends Life's going nowhere for him, all he does is blame them They got lives, they got wives, they got jobs He's still in his mum's yard, feeling lost and caught He's on the sniff, he's on the pills, on the MDMA Demons visit him every night, he tries to send them away But he's got no prospects, no sk**s, no talents He's got no motivation left, he's losing his balance Every night he's f**ed, every morning he's embarra**ed Every day it's the skunk, weed, cess or charas On the dole, on the madness, on the late-night fisticuffs An eighth of white's a pick-me-up for him He's getting twisted up within He wants to change, stuck in his habits though Can't take the pain of sobriety Kicking up the dust outside this society Addict man, crippled by his own notoriety until No one wants to chat no more, they think he's crazy Twenty-eight now and his future's looking hazy Skunk's looking up to him like "blaze me, blaze me" And he's lying to himself like "System didn't take me" [Hook] He wants a piece of something that doesn't exist He wants fame, wants a little weight behind his name Chasing an elusive, turns the lucid to lunacy Everyone around here soon to be something Would-be-has-been's smiles full of bad dreams If it ain't real from the edge to the core Don't pretend anymore, you need to chill Your trainers are lovely mate, but where's your f**ing sk**? [Verse 4] He plays the back rooms of bars for men whose faces bare scars Suddenly it seems the kids are listening to guitars and drums It ain't beats and rhymes, he creeps the streets at times And imagines how this could have been the sweetest heat you find in the crate But now it's too late, he's consumed with hate For everyone that's better than him, tryna write a rhyme But it's like the letters jamming in the pen The ink refuses to spell a sh** phrase His heart's sick with self-praise